


forever counting

by confettitty



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Domestic, Fluff, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, au - yes i made them teachers, briefly mentioned osasuna, no beta we die like men, terrible puns and pick up lines at the grocery store, this is literally pure fluff, vday special
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-15 16:01:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29438676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/confettitty/pseuds/confettitty
Summary: The crush that had been sitting at the back of his mind grew and grew, and Atsumu couldn’t tell if it was a bad thing or not. Dating another faculty member wasn’t prohibited despite it being discouraged, but, worst of all, he didn’t know if he wanted to risk such an already decent relationship for something he feared might not last forever, and he wantedSakusato last forever.It had been true—Atsumu did find himself scared shitless at the realization. His past relationships never gave him that uncomfortable feeling at the pit of his stomach; they never ran the risk of losing something good in hopes of something better. It had been so terrifyingly unfamiliar, Osamu had asked him at the time if it was love. Atsumu had laughed it off knowing it was probably wishful thinking and denied it.
Relationships: Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi
Comments: 10
Kudos: 67
Collections: SakuAtsu Fluff Week 2021





	forever counting

Valentine’s Day had never been anything special for Atsumu. It was just a day celebrated by two people who think they’re in love or, at the very least, pretend to find love in a false intimacy offered by anybody who’s willing and available. They probably start with some dinner at a mediocre restaurant because nobody wants to spend over fifteen thousand yen on a single meal, maybe go to the movies afterward with a large bag of popcorn that's been oversaturated with salty, melted butter, and then finish the night by heading home, or maybe a cheap motel, to get jiggy with it. They don’t talk again after.

Truth be told, Atsumu had started off being one of those people. His Valentine’s dates have been different every year ever since his teenage years came through and he spent more time thinking about girls, surfing the web on a private browser on his phone under the guise that he was taking a long shower (his and Osamu’s shared room don’t have a lock, and there was no way in hell Atsumu would try to keep his brother out of their own bedroom), and wheeling a pretty classmate rather than studying like most people in his life expected him to. It came as a surprise when he even got into university at all.

Either way, in retrospect, Valentine’s Day never meant much to him. It was always just an excuse to not be lonely on a day he felt almost shameful to be seen alone on, and also for the sake of feeling somewhat wanted and appreciated, although it'd only be for a few hours.

But it’s different now. Obviously, people grow. Atsumu has grown—his perception of things aren’t always going to be the same. Whatever V-Day was back then isn't the same as how it was, maybe, three years ago, and definitely not now.

“Things change, ya know?” Atsumu remembers telling his brother, Osamu, on a lazy winter evening last year. He had his feet propped up on the coffee table, toes warming by the electricity-driven fireplace in Osamu’s apartment. His thoughts were an odd mixture of a nostalgia he didn’t exactly miss and an appreciation for something he knew he could look forward to.

“Yeah,” Osamu responded, fingers dragging across the screen of his phone, probably to send off a message to some guy named Suna that he’s been seeing. He had looked up at Atsumu with a glance that told him everything he needed to know. They both have changed a lot since their earlier years, but Atsumu thinks he’s had the bigger growth. “They do.”

Miya Atsumu is twenty-five, now. Life has slowed down a lot considering how crazy he used to get back in the days—especially in his first couple of years in university. It’s a little hard to believe he’s already halfway through his twenties; he’s five years away from being _thirty._ He had done his “wildin’ out” in his earlier years, had plenty of people come and lay in his bed, took many Tinder dates out to whatever restaurants they decided to go to on a whim, and been in and fell out of multiple relationships, all with a missing, important element.

For a while, Atsumu had thought that there was no one out there for him. They all felt the same and none of them were ever able to give him something _new_. After so many attempts at trying to grasp for something that would hold, he had given up. He had thought that maybe it was _him._ He couldn’t love anyone, and nobody really could love him to his roots, either. He was often told he was a little too loud, didn’t know when to grow up or “mature”, or just sucked at putting effort into a relationship. He had a feeling they were all a little true. Was there really a point in putting effort into a relationship if he knew he wouldn’t have minded if they were to break up one day?

For two years, Atsumu had stopped seeing people altogether. He would have the occasional date here and there, but they never led to anything more, which wasn’t exactly upsetting. It wasn’t until he came out of school with a degree in sports education did he meet Sakusa Kiyoomi. Sakusa was, and still is, considered one of the best chemistry teachers of their years, and Atsumu… well, he just coaches the senior girls’ volleyball team and teaches sports performance and phys. ed. It’s nothing special, really, especially not when compared to the International Baccalaureate program’s newest addition of the one and only, Sakusa Kiyoomi.

What Atsumu initially thought had sucked more was the fact that they were both introduced as the new teachers introduced to the school that year. He had a feeling when Sakusa took his hand for a shake it was out of obligation under the many watchful eyes of the other staff members, hands clapping gently around the table to welcome them. Well, despite that, Atsumu thought it still might be easier trying to hit it off with someone who was in the same boat as him than trying to chat up any of the other teachers, who have probably been here for years.

Untrue to his assumptions, Sakusa didn’t really want much to do with Atsumu in the beginning, no matter how many times he would pop by Sakusa’s homeroom during lunch hours. The first time, he remembers, Sakusa had told him he was busy grading something, and that Atsumu should go find someone else to “inconvenience”, not Atsumu’s words.

“Am I _bothering_ you?” Atsumu had asked, just a little offended.

Sakusa looked him in the eye and said nothing, then silently gestured to the door Atsumu had come in, as though telling him _you can go now._ He did, but it didn’t stop Atsumu from trying, again and again. He had already long vowed he would make a friend out of Sakusa, come hell or high water. He thinks back then he might have gotten a kick out of, possibly, pissing Sakusa off.

The first few attempts were futile. Then came the one fateful lunch hour when Atsumu walked right into Sakusa’s homeroom with a skip, a small stack of papers in his hands, and smacked it down on the side of Sakusa’s table.

“I have stuff to do today, too,” Atsumu had exclaimed, slightly too proudly if he has to admit. “I’ll do it with ya.”

Sakusa glanced from his hand, palm pressed flat into the top leaf of the stack, to his face, and deadpanned, “I’m going to eat lunch.”

“Fine! I’ll eat lunch with you.”

“But you just said—”

“I can do it later.”

That was the first time Atsumu had spent longer than three minutes with him, staff meetings excluded. As a matter of fact, they had spent the entire forty-five minutes together. He hadn’t even asked Atsumu to leave after they were finished eating. He had watched Sakusa pull out a binder, so Atsumu had gone ahead and started grading his own papers.

From then on, it started becoming a bit of a regular occurrence. On lunch breaks that were free, Atsumu would go find Sakusa. In the weeks when Atsumu had to supervise intramurals, he would pop his head in and hold a quick two-minute conversation asking Sakusa about his day. When Sakusa was supervising, Atsumu would go with him. People were beginning to ask if they were friends, which shouldn’t have been too surprising—they were young, new, and shared some pretty similar passions, like volleyball and whether cookie dough ice cream was better than chocolate chip and mint or not (the latter had been a once in a lifetime, terrifyingly heated discussion. Some of the students who stayed to mingle in Sakusa’s homeroom during that break got to witness it first hand, and it was not really a pretty sight.) Atsumu would excitedly tell everyone they were the bestest of friends, whereas Sakusa would deny it into the ground with incessant rolls of his eyes. For the first time, everybody thought Atsumu’s words were more believable, and he thought so too, as always.

A couple of days before the weekend training camp before division games started, Sakusa had approached him in the gym during the later half of practice. Sakusa’s junior girls’ team had wrapped up their practice to give the main gymnasium up for Atsumu’s girls nearly an hour ago—he had thought Sakusa would have gone home by now, or _be_ home. Partway through their cardio drills, Sakusa had entered the gym and made his way to Atsumu.

“Why’re ya still here? Didn’t wanna say bye?” Atsumu had jokingly teased, expression smug. He heard a scoff over the high-pitched squeaks from volleyball sneakers throughout the gym.

“I was only reminding you of the weekend training camp.”

Atsumu had thought, _sure, as if I would forget,_ but responded with, “Nah, I think you didn’t wanna leave me behind,” anyway, and then quickly added, “What are you doing later?”

“Later as in?”

Atsumu shrugged a shoulder and gestured to the gym space with his chin vaguely, “Practice.”

“I’m going home. Is that not supposed to be obvious?” Sakusa replied, an eyebrow raised as though it was meant to tease at Atsumu. Thankfully, Atsumu had been teased his whole life, still _is_ teased to this day, so it didn’t get to him, unfamiliar butterflies in his stomach disregarded.

“Well, I was thinkin’ maybe you’d wanna come try out this new place with me.” He had dropped it preparing for a refusal, but still held onto that string of high hope that, maybe, Sakusa didn’t hate him enough to not consider it.

It truly was a little surprising when he received his answer almost right away. “Sure.” Atsumu didn’t have much time to express his surprise before the girls were rounding into their last station of their last set of drills, chests heaving with exhaustion, so Atsumu had called them in for a quick discussion about their next plays, which would be used in the remaining amount of time they have for a quick scrimmage, before letting them grab a drink of water.

“I think it’s nice that your best interests are in your students,” Sakusa had told him when Atsumu returned to the sidelines.

He had given him a look, like he wasn’t sure if Sakusa was joking or being genuine. “What, like how I make ‘em run five kilometres every Thursday?” He laughed at his own response, fingers tracing along the curves of his coach’s whistle.

“I meant it, but you don’t have to believe me, so take it as you will.”

Atsumu’s thoughts had drifted off then. They took a dangerous turn into an idea that was beginning to blossom, poison threatening to leak if he wasn’t careful enough. A perilous path, really, Atsumu had thought, then shoved it away.

Sakusa continued. “You’re good at keeping them well-rounded, your sports performance classes, too. I admire that, Miya.”

He had never even _thought_ about dating him, not in their two years of working together, until then. They were the first genuine words of this capacity directed towards Atsumu that had ever come out of Sakusa’s mouth, but Atsumu dropped it as quickly as it came. There was no way that could ever happen, he remembers thinking. So what if Atsumu was starting to acknowledge a feeling he was hesitatingly beginning to define? The two were so different. In what sort of world would they be able to make it work? In what _universe_ would Sakusa ever return such a feeling?

It obviously wasn’t strong enough for Atsumu to consider many moves, but it did eat away at his mind throughout dinner. He had sent Sakusa the address, a nice place downtown with a rooftop patio, a little too romantic of a setting had they not sat opposite each other, Sakusa in his casual button-up and Atsumu still in his athletic wear. He wished he could have had a beer, but it wouldn’t have made things easier. He was still going to think about it—still thought about it when their plates came and went, water glasses filled four times because they both, apparently, drank a lot of water on the daily, and went home for the night.

Atsumu let it eat at him for days turned into weeks and, before he knew it, a couple of months had passed. Still, he said nothing, not even as their relationship grew into something he neither wanted to clarify or leave in the dark, so he stood somewhere in its limbo, knowing what they had was a friendship at a level that surpassed most other of his longest ones while refusing to explicitly define his feelings with real, human words instead of a jumbled mess of thoughts.

The crush that had been sitting at the back of his mind grew and grew, and Atsumu couldn’t tell if it was a bad thing or not. Dating another faculty member wasn’t prohibited despite it being discouraged, but, worst of all, he didn’t know if he wanted to risk such an already decent relationship for something he feared might not last forever, and he wanted _Sakusa_ to last forever.

It had been true—Atsumu did find himself scared shitless at the realization. His past relationships never gave him that uncomfortable feeling at the pit of his stomach; they never ran the risk of losing something good in hopes of something better. It had been so terrifyingly unfamiliar, Osamu had asked him at the time if it was love. Atsumu had laughed it off knowing it was probably wishful thinking and denied it.

He can confidently answer now that, yes, it was love.

Sakusa Kiyoomi is his boyfriend. It wasn’t easy getting here, but neither was it some twisted romance he constantly saw in sad movies or Korean dramas. In hindsight, Sakusa probably already knew. He was probably waiting on Atsumu to make a move, always letting him test the waters and lead them halfway only for him to chicken out somehow. In his own defence, Atsumu had just wanted it to be _perfect;_ something straight out of a teenage love story—Taylor Swift needed to be able to write a song inspired by it—but the moment was never perfect. Sakusa told him immediately after they got together that he had run out of patience and got tired of waiting, so he ended up asking Atsumu first.

And even though it was during a short lunch break because Sakusa had to run somewhere to print out some stuff before his next block, and Atsumu didn’t get to eat his lunch with him, it was still _perfect,_ from the way Sakusa’s fingers closed so intimately around Atsumu’s wrist after he had apologized for “inconveniencing” him, not Sakusa’s words this time, to the way he stared at Atsumu’s eyes with a bit of a twinkle he couldn’t recognize back then. Only for a moment, Atsumu had thought his heart stopped when the words left Sakusa’s mouth.

“Would you like to go on a date with me?”

Well, Atsumu had little reason to say no except for the fact that _he_ wanted to be the one to do it, but the flush on his face and the choke over a stuttered _sure_ didn’t let him consider his options. Plus, he didn’t think Sakusa would really appreciate him turning him down only to be the one to ask him out again, immediately after.

(“You’re such an idiot,” Sakusa said when Atsumu had finally admitted it to him.

“What?” Atsumu bit back. “For wantin’ to be the one to ask y’out?

“Yes.”)

At the very least, Atsumu had been the one to _confess_ first, so he took his bragging rights for that and didn’t drop it until—well, he still brings it up occasionally, not that it really seems to bother Kiyoomi much. He had waited until after dinner, a nice place Sakusa had chosen, because, again, he wanted the moment to be absolutely perfect; showstopping. It didn’t come the way he intended for it to, though, because they spent a few seconds staring at each other after the bill has been paid, neither making the first move to leave their spots, and then Atsumu watched Sakusa’s lips move.

“I like you,” he had blurted out, a little louder than necessary, enough to turn a few heads seated nearby. Yes, he’ll admit, a little embarrassing now that he thinks about it, but it was worth it to watch the colour spread across Sakusa’s face. He was sure he reflected the same red, if not then darker. “I just… wanted to say it. Before you could. I mean. Yeah. That’s what you were gonna say, right?”

Sakusa had laughed, tension in his neck and shoulders relaxing just a smidgen. “Well, sure, but I was going to ask if you wanted to… come over.”

Atsumu still took it as a win, even though the echo of Sakusa’s words resounded in his mind enough times to get something tightening in the pit of his stomach, hands turning clammy, and head feeling fuzzy with want. Took it as a win even when it was Sakusa pressing him into black satin sheets, bitingly cold against his bare back at first, with a bruising kiss.

Some part through it, or maybe all throughout it, until the very moment where they lay next to each other as sleep threatened to crawl into their neurons, it felt a little too nostalgic for Atsumu. It felt like he was reliving a moment he shouldn’t be reliving, and he was terrified of waking up in the morning only to discover that it really _was_ just a replay of a scenario that ran enough times in his years as a young adult.

Atsumu still recalls how thankful he had been when he had woken up with the feeling still there, and it wasn’t only _just there._ It spread like a wildfire across his chest when he had locked his gaze with a dark pair of sleepy eyes, a pair of pretty pink lips moving forward to kiss him on the forehead.

He remembers fully coming to terms with the fact that he fell in love with Sakusa Kiyoomi, and he knows this because he had never felt anything like it in his twenty-five years of living and searching for someone exactly like him. It might not have seemed like a long time, but Atsumu spent a lot of it seeking. He spent so much of his younger years experimenting, trying things with different types of people, blonde, brunettes, girls who smiled more, boys who smiled less, and he really, truly, did think, at one point, he was destined to never find love. What were the chances of finding it in a man with twin moles above his right eyebrow, curly hair cascading over his fade to cover just the top of his ear when he gels it to one side? A boy who was stubborn to submitting to Atsumu’s friendly advances, except Atsumu is more adamant.

One in a million, he thinks. He had never been in love before that moment and he had never loved, but _god,_ did he wish to love that man forever.

And forever he has. Today is going to mark nine months of their being together, as well as their first-ever Valentine’s Day with each other. This day has never meant much to Atsumu, but it will this year and for the rest of the years he spends with Kiyoomi. He wants this to be special, and unlike whatever he’s done in the past. He _needs_ this to be special, but where does he start if he never had the answers in his past years?

When he tells Kiyoomi this, the other holds his hands together and raises them to press gentle, little kisses to the bends of his knuckles. “It doesn’t matter what we do,” he tells him with a hum. “It’s different because the situation is different now.”

And Kiyoomi is right. Atsumu has never loved any of those people. Even if he didn’t take them to dinner and the movies, deciding instead to stay in and order takeout, or go out on a drive to the countryside because he can see the stars so clearly out there without all the light pollution, nothing would have changed. It wouldn’t have been special to Atsumu. It was never with the right _person._

But the situation is different now. He loves Kiyoomi and, after his assurance, recognizes that no matter what they do, every little moment will be special and cherished, even if it’s as mundane as brushing their teeth together as they do every single morning ever since moving in together. He’ll have remembered it happened on their first Valentine’s Day, and look forward to it happening again, and again, and again.

He drops his toothbrush into their rectangular toothbrush holder, made out of bamboo, that they had picked out at the market hall of the local Ikea, and presses a damp kiss to Kiyoomi’s cheek as he watches him gargle straight mouthwash for the entire duration recommended on the back of the label. It’s a horrifying thought, and Atsumu grimaces at the idea of not diluting it down until it’s fifty-fifty water and mouthwash solution, but knowing his boyfriend can conquer something like that makes him feel a little bit proud—he won’t deny that.

“I was thinking we could go grocery shopping,” Kiyoomi says as they make their way into the kitchen to start on preparing breakfast together. Grocery shopping sounds fun. Call him old, but after trying to live life as though every day is your last has caught up to Atsumu a while ago, to the point where going to the grocery store seems exciting and watching deep cleaning videos of stove tops are oddly satisfying. 

Just for something to poke fun at though, Atsumu snorts and says, “What a sexy Valentine’s Day idea, Omi,” while dropping the slices of toast onto a couple of clean plates after they had popped out of the toaster, crispy at their crusts.

“Grocery shopping can be sexy too,” Kiyoomi responds, peeling back the avocados, and although he says it pretty damn straight-faced, Atsumu can hear the hint of a tease behind it. After having known Kiyoomi for so long, and so intimately, too, Atsumu likes to coin himself as the “master of reading Sakusa Kiyoomi.” He finds it as funny as Atsumu does.

They eat their avocado toast with sunny side up eggs together after Atsumu helps sprinkle some salt and pepper on top, and then they change into clothes that the general society will approve of for a stop at the grocery store before heading off. The leather of Kiyoomi’s classy, black sedan is cool against Atsumu’s nape, the only part exposed from his hood squashed between him and the seat. He reaches a hand behind him and yanks upward to cover it up, although it doesn’t matter too much with the way the car blasts its heat right to the skin of his neck and cheeks.

“Are we gonna make dinner at home today?” Atsumu asks as Kiyoomi drives. “Or are ya gonna take me somewhere special, like the McDonald’s down the street?”

Kiyoomi makes a noise halfway between a laugh and a scoff. His gloved hands slide to a lower position on the wheel. “Whatever you want, although I advise against fast food.”

Atsumu pretends to be offended, jaw falling open exaggeratedly and pout evident through his words. “What’s wrong with McDonald’s? Not fancy enough for ya?”

“I said I _advise_ against it. I didn’t say no.”

“Well, in that case, let’s just make dinner at home.”

They both know they were planning on it, anyway. For the most part, Atsumu glues himself to Kiyoomi’s side as they’re going through meat. They grab steak because Kiyoomi’s tastes typically favour European cuisines, whereas Atsumu likes a little more of the traditional stuff. While Kiyoomi bags a few kiwis, Atsumu is across him in the next aisle, picking out fresh royal galas. He finds one with a bruise in, shaped almost like a heart. He lifts his head to take a peek at who’s around him, then presses his thumb gently into the bruise to fill out the shape a bit more.

“Omi, look!” He raises the apple, the bruise facing Kiyoomi, and says, “This one’s gotta heart on it. Love you.” He pecks the air in the other’s direction, quick and unnoticeable if nobody is looking directly at the blonde, and drops the apple back into the pile.

“You’re insufferable,” Kiyoomi says through a sigh, eye rolling to the right as though he didn’t just see the kiss Atsumu sent his way.

Atsumu leaves Kiyoomi’s side for a few minutes to go through the candy aisle. Of the two of them, Kiyoomi is actually the one with the bigger sweet tooth, but he’s also much better at controlling his urges. He returns and drops everything into their shopping cart while Kiyoomi is browsing through the different types of pastas. He comes back with a narrowed gaze, movements slowing in front of Atsumu, then drops it to where a variety of candies and junk foods sit. He snatches at a bag and reads the bright bubble characters at the top.

“Really? Milk candy? I thought you said you were going to get milk.”

Atsumu puckers his lips, feigning innocence. Kiyoomi probably thinks he’s like a dog—won’t admit to anything until forced into a corner. He can feel the burning gaze on the side of his face, so he turns and grabs the candy out from Kiyoomi’s hold, only to toss it back down into the cart.

“What? It’s the same thing,” he argues, then quickly adds, “I got the milk though.”

They’re on their way to the dairy section again because Kiyoomi forgot to tell Atsumu to also grab butter when he spots something on his left. He reaches out and grabs it, then calls out to see Kiyoomi turn around.

“Hey, Omi, I love you, so ya better not go _bacon_ my heart.” He holds forward the package of thickly-sliced pork belly, layered one above the other, and gives it a little wiggle, as though his terrible pun didn’t make enough sense.

Kiyoomi stares at him, lips pressed flat into a thin line, but Atsumu sees the small twitch at one of the corners. He drops it back into the cooler and jogs a little to catch up. Kiyoomi doesn’t say anything as they keep moving, but then Atsumu picks up another item, a round ball of fresh mozzarella.

“What’s wrong, Omi? Not _cheesy_ enough for you?”

“No.”

It doesn’t stop there. Atsumu has made it his goal to think of as many jokes and pick up lines as he can with random items he finds around the grocery store.

“Omi, I love you from my head _to-ma-toes.”_

“Put the tomatoes back.”

“I thought you needed tomatoes?”

Kiyoomi squints, then holds his hand out for the small box of cherry tomatoes. Atsumu drops it in his hands, a satisfied feeling filling him up at the base of his chest.

“Omi, can you hug me?”

“What? Right now?”

“Yeah, I’m a little _chili.”_

“Please shut up.”

Just then, Atsumu catches the sight of the boxes of batter mix. He swipes one off the shelf, nearly knocking over the one next to it. “Hey, I don’t like yer attitude. You need to control yer _tempura.”_

Atsumu feels a little bit bad, so he gives him a bit of a break. They almost have everything checked off the list—well, Kiyoomi’s list, and probably a mental list, too, because he hasn’t been looking at his phone, and Atsumu, who’s a little more old school, hasn’t given him a list of anything, either.

When five minutes pass with minimal conversation, mostly just Atsumu suggesting which tea they should get (“Bergamot! It’s the better earl grey. I don’t even like earl grey, but I think bergamot’s pretty good.”) Atsumu finally lifts the small bottle he’s nicked off the shelf a couple minutes prior.

“Are you maple syrup? ‘Cause yer sweet and sticky.” He makes sure Kiyoomi catches the excessive wink he sends his way, like he’s delivering it through a camera live on international television. Kiyoomi turns away and pushes the cart just a little bit faster than he had been before, but Atsumu catches the flush sitting high on his cheeks.

“Okay, okay—last one. If you were a typa pasta sauce, you’d be alfredo, ‘cause you taste _extra_ crea—”

_“Atsumu.”_

The rest of his sentence dies on his tongue as his jaw closes with a click of his teeth, arm dropping to the side. Well, that’s a look he’ll remember for the rest of his life. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen Kiyoomi so embarrassed before, but, more than that, the dark, intense gaze the other gives him makes him feel almost weak in the knees.

They buy groceries that’ll last them through almost two weeks, and they get busy trying to decide what to make for dinner as they head out to the parking lot and towards where the car is. Atsumu is going to attempt to bake what he believes are the easiest cookies on earth: butter cookies, and Kiyoomi is going to run his best game in the kitchen for dinner tonight.

“Want some help?” Atsumu asks. “You can help me with my cookies, too.”

“We’ll never get to eating it, Atsumu.”

He fights it. “Why can’t we do both at the same time?” The kitchen _might_ be a mess, and it could probably get a little confusing with trying to focus on two separate recipes, but it shouldn’t be that hard, Atsumu thinks. The cookies are just flour with sugar, butter, eggs, and vanilla.

“Fine.” Kiyoomi admits defeat, but he doesn’t sound upset. “Don’t you dare get flour everywhere or I’ll make you clean it up with your bare hands. And then I’ll toss it in your hair.”

Atsumu barks out a laugh just as their apartment comes into view. “The hell kinda threat is that? Please don’t, though, like actually. I just washed my hair last night! And last time, it was _you_ who made all that mess.”

“Atsumu, you make a mess doing anything.”

They continue to bicker all the way into their apartment, groceries dropped by the floor as the toe off their shoes in the genkan. They clear everything out of their reusable bags before they hop back into the car. There’s a new chicken and waffle place that opened up in the community down the hill, and Atsumu has been dying to go since their opening day. They were told reservations are unavailable on Valentine’s Day when Kiyoomi had given them a call yesterday evening, but neither of them really mind waiting for a table to clear up. The fifteen minutes isn’t long at all when they spend every second of it scrolling through pictures of dogs in Kiyoomi’s car as they await for the text message to come in. Atsumu scrolls by an akita in a tiny, yellow raincoat, and then coos at a pitbull doing its wide, dopey smile. He brushes a thumb over it, then peeks up at Kiyoomi from the corners of his eyes, a silent beg in its glossiness.

“Atsumu…” Kiyoomi begins with a warning. Atsumu has wanted a dog for _so long,_ and Kiyoomi isn’t exactly against it. They just had to be sure they were ready, and Atsumu feels pretty darn prepared after doing countless hours of research and video-watching.

“Okay, I _know_ what yer thinkin’, but we’re ready, aren’t we?” He doesn’t know why they shouldn’t just say _fuck it_ and get one right now.

“Do you think we’re ready?”

Atsumu nods vigorously just as a text notification slides down from the top of his phone, signalling that their table is ready for them. “For sure, Omi-Omi! And don’t lie—I know you’ve been doin’ as much research as I have. Yer secretly a dog lover, aren't cha. Maybe more than _me?”_

Kiyoomi gives a shrug as they get out of the car and walk the few steps to the restaurant. It smells heavenly upon arrival, like honey and garlic and buttermilk. Atsumu peeks behind the counter as they’re guided to their table by the window, sliding blinds half-mast to block out some of that late winter sun, brighter than they’re used to with the accompaniment of the white snow still blanketing over the grounds.

“Did you want to go look at a shelter later?”

The words roll of Kiyoomi’s tongue easily, but it floods Atsumu’s brain and sends him into a bit of an excited frenzy, body jolting upright with buzzing anticipation threatening to spill over, like the droplets of water that come sloshing out of their glasses when he accidentally knocks the knuckle of his thumb against the table.

He sucks in harshly through his teeth, and then there’s a hand on his, colder but soothing against where it’s raw and tender.

“Why are you always hurting yourself? Are you stupid?” Kiyoomi mutters out, rubbing gentle circles over Atsumu’s hand. “And don’t get too excited—we can’t adopt today, for obvious reasons.”

Well, true, but this means they’re _almost there._ Atsumu grew up with a fluffy companion, who had, with its age, passed on a few years ago. He hadn’t thought to get another one, since he was so busy with school and the part-time jobs that he could never keep for long. Plus, since moving out from his and Osamu’s shared apartment because they both have parted ways to accommodate for their jobs elsewhere, he didn’t think he could have the time for one if he hardly has the time to visit his mom. He considered getting her a small apartment somewhere nearby so she can come visit whenever. And a dog. He still really, really wants a dog—which is a much more realistic dream now than before.

Lunch goes by a little slowly when Atsumu can’t seem to calm his nerves or keep his energy levels down. Nonetheless, it’s still good. The buttermilk chicken is, much to Kiyoomi’s horror, _delicious_ with honey drizzled overtop.

“Honey with fried chicken is _good,_ Omi-kun. Have you… never had chicken nuggets with honey?” His words trail off, cautious with his question because he has a feeling Kiyoomi hasn’t.

“How can that _possibly_ taste good?” Kiyoomi responds, mildly disgusted, really appalled. “Sweet things don’t go with savoury things.”

“Yeah, but this is _different._ It’s like pineapples on pizza! Same thing, right?”

Kiyoomi’s eye twitches with annoyance. “No, _that’s_ different. Pineapples give pizza a citrusy taste.”

Atsumu already knows there’s no point arguing. Kiyoomi has always had a bit of a picky palate, but he still wonders how _pineapple on pizza_ isn’t on that mental list of “foods that shouldn’t be eaten,” and don’t get him wrong, Atsumu also likes pineapple on pizza, but _Kiyoomi?_

Due to their light banter, Atsumu briefly forgets about the fact that they’re heading to an animal shelter afterwards, but when the bill is paid and they’re getting out of their seats, Atsumu is suddenly remembering their next destination.

The thrum of exciting energy comes back full force, coursing through his veins with a silent vibration in the shake of his leg throughout the drive. Kiyoomi never comments on it. If Atsumu can say so himself, it might seem like Kiyoomi is a little excited too. He can tell by the way his fingers drum against his steering wheel, his active eyes, and wordless mumbling to whatever is playing on the radio right now, volume sitting at a low hum.

The shelter is buzzing with life as Atsumu finds himself greeted by many little animals. Even Kiyoomi has a slight bounce to his steps, and he swears he isn’t imagining it, even though he’ll probably deny it if Atsumu asks. 

Their noses and ears turn red with the kiss of the chilly wintry air, but neither of them mind the swelling in their fingers when they reach out to give the dogs head pats and gentle rubs behind floppy ears. Atsumu watches the dog lick up at Kiyoomi’s face, who leans back and turns away, jet black curls falling drooping to one side with the carry of the wind—and Atsumu thinks he looks absolutely beautiful, like Jack Frost had overstayed his seasonal welcome to dust the highs of his cheeks a cherry blossom pink. Atsumu doesn’t look away, even when Kiyoomi catches him staring.

“What?” he asks, as though a little exposed, and turns away to distract himself with the dogs. “Stop staring.”

Atsumu’s grin is beaming, the apples of his cheeks raised high enough for them to peek into his lower periphery. “I just… dunno. Think you’re pretty.” He swallows a dry lump that has formed in his throat, a little too caught up in the moment he ends up feeling a flush settle its warmth underneath the layer of his own skin. He blinks away, then cups the fluff of the samoyed pup’s cheeks.

“Ya like her?” he asks without looking at Kiyoomi, eyes sucked into the pearly black beads glistening at him. “She’s got a limp, but I think I like her.” They learn she’s had a healed injury in one of her back paws from a vehicular accident in her earlier years, but she seems happier to see them than they do with her.

They play with her for nearly an hour, and while Kiyoomi goes to get more details on her adoption process, Atsumu plants his butt in a dry spot on the ground. She’s a little tired from playing, body pressed limp in Atsumu’s lap as he weaves his fingers through the thick of her fur, not minding how much she sheds. He and Kiyoomi are prepared for this. They’re ready. They talked about setting funds aside every month to care for a new addition to their little family. She’ll fit right in, he thinks, already imagining her rolling in the fluffy wisps of their living room carpet, white like her coat.

“Daddy’s lookin’ to adopt ya,” he says quietly, scratching at a part on her neck, and grins cheekily. “Ya think yer ready for a family?”

Kiyoomi comes back shortly afterward with a smile, a sliver of white teeth revealed just past his lips, and tells him they’ll be back in a week for her. Atsumu has to stop the excited howl threatening to burst at the back of his throat. They say goodbye just as the animals are rotated back indoors for a nap after a long hour of playing around, and Atsumu and Kiyoomi settle back into the safety of the car, no longer quivering from the cold, but thrilled with the visions of their future life.

The car ride back home is filled with laughter at all the silly pictures they had taken at the shelter. “What should we name her?” Atsumu asks, reaching a hand forward to turn down the voice spilling through the car speakers. “What about—it should hafta do with her coat, right? She’s white.” He sucks in a breath through his teeth as he ponders. “But that’s a little cliche.”

At this point, he’s just rambling. Kiyoomi doesn’t give much input besides a couple hums and nods, so Atsumu comes up with a list as they take the safer route home considering the roads. It’s ten minutes longer, but Atsumu doesn’t mind it and Kiyoomi doesn’t comment on Atsumu’s habit of thinking out loud.

They narrow the list down to three by the time they arrive home. Atsumu’s phone is blowing up with messages from his mom, Osamu, and a bunch of his friends after posting one of the photos he had taken there to his Instagram—one of Atsumu’s wide smile, the samoyed with it’s long, pink tongue poking out, and Kiyoom in the background, bent at the waist to meet Atsumu’s squat in order to get his face in the frame. He’s not a fan of photos, despite Atsumu’s persistence about how _good_ Kiyoomi looks. He’s good enough to be a model, he swears.

Kiyoomi heads straight for the shower when they get back home so, while Atsumu waits, he starts on getting a pot of water boiling for the pasta. Despite the distant water running, he finds it a little too quiet, and he has never really been a big fan of silence unless he’s with Kiyoomi. Even then, he still tends to blabber, something Kiyoomi once commented on when Atsumu had abruptly cut himself off.

“Why did you stop?”

Atsumu had felt a little lightheaded, like he wasn’t sure how to exactly respond. Kiyoomi had looked at him with so much intensity he, for a moment, felt undeserving of that attention.

“I just—thought you, uh, didn’t want to hear the rest of it.” And it had been true. He was often told he talked too much or too loudly, but Kiyoomi’s hand cupping the side of Atsumu’s cheek to trace the pad of his thumb along his lower lip made him wonder, for the first time, if Kiyoomi truly didn’t mind.

“I want to listen to you.”

And it was really all Atsumu had needed. Kiyoomi listens to everything he has to say even if he seems to be distracted with something else, like making coffee or steeping tea, responding to emails or cleaning around their apartment. He always responds with something, and Atsumu has never once felt that way again.

“Can’t believe we’re actually gonna get a dog,” Atsumu voices out when Kiyoomi steps into the kitchen, fresh out of the shower. He makes his way around the island counter in the middle of their kitchen before pressing a quick kiss to Atsumu’s temple, damp hair tickling the side of his face.

Kiyoomi peeks at the little bubbles forming in the pot of water. “Have you been thinking about what we will name her?”

“I’m not gonna lie, kinda leanin’ towards Udon,” Atsumu tells him, turning to press a kiss back into Kiyoomi’s jaw and telling he’s going to go take his shower. When he comes out, it’s to something delicious cooking up in the kitchen, enough to overpower the scent of the rose water hydrating mist that both he and Kiyoomi share. He skips to the main area and doesn’t stop the smile from forming on his face when he sees Kiyoomi working his knuckles into the dough of their cookies.

“You started without me?”

“You spent half an hour taking a shower,” Kiyoomi mutters. Atsumu works his way around and helps stir the carbonara sauce around with the rubber pink spatula he had picked out himself, then glances back at the mess of flour across the counter.

“Hey, Omi, what happened to not gettin’ the flour everywhere?”

Kiyoomi twists his body to glare at him, and Atsumu doesn’t fail to notice the slight pout in his lips, pink and very, very kissable. He leans forward to peck a kiss into them. “Don’t worry, I won’t make ya clean it up. You did most of the work anyway.”

“You can finish kneading the dough.”

"Do you _knead_ me to?"

 _"Yes,_ I _knead_ you to."

The rest of their time spent in the kitchen is to Atsumu swaying around and singing along to every song in his playlist that comes on next. His taste in music is expansive, and what he listens to really depends on his mood and how he’s feeling that day, but tonight he’s wanting some Jeff Bernat and Jeremy Passion, perfect in explaining how exactly he feels right now.

He turns around after putting his rolled dough, tight in saran wrap, in the fridge to let it cool, and slides up next to Kiyoomi, “ _When I look at you, swear that I feel somethin’ in my heart,'_ flowing from his lips naturally. He grazes them along the junction of Kiyoomi’s neck and shoulder and continues, _“Tellin’ me it’s gonna be okay, like maybe this time_ — _love will stay."_

His arms loop around Kiyoomi’s waist, mouth stealing kisses when the other turns his head to look at him. Atsumu loves the way he looks at him, like he’s the only one Kiyoomi needs. He loves the small smiles he used to try so hard to force down but doesn’t anymore, so Atsumu can see them whenever he wants to.

“What?” Kiyoomi asks, amused. “Not going to sing anymore?”

Atsumu pulls away and does a little spin on his way to pick up his phone. _“There’s not much the world can do, to keep me away from you. I am committed_ — _to make sure these dreams we have come true.”_ He hums the rest of it as he scrolls through his text messages, responding to his mom’s usual _how was your day?_ text and Osamu’s _lol look at this pic i found of u._

Whatever Kiyoomi is making right now tickles his nostrils in the best way possible, and it looks almost done. Atsumu cleans up the mess on the counter and puts everything back in its place, hears the _clink_ of a couple plates, and works on getting their small dining table prepared.

Kiyoomi sets their plates down on the banana patterned placement mats (again, Atsumu’s pick) and they wash their hands at the sink together. Atsumu puts the music from his phone on pause, and watches as Kiyoomi reaches for two wine glasses with one hand, dangles them upside down between the knuckles of his fingers until he makes it back to the dining table.

The carbonara, made with extra mushrooms for Atsumu because Kiyoomi knows he loves them, looks amazing with the bacon and the green of the parsley flakes to contrast the dark red of the wine pouring into their glasses in a slow and steady stream.

Atsumu asks, “When’d ya buy _that?”_

“Maybe last month,” Kiyoomi tells him.

“What, like, specifically for this day?”

He doesn’t respond, but with the way Kiyoomi glances at him with the corner of his lips twitching upward knowingly, Atsumu doesn’t really need him to.

Wine had been an acquired taste for Atsumu. He had always been more of a straight shots kind of guy, go big or go home (with the occasional saccharine cocktails sneaking into the mix), but that was a long time ago. He hardly remembers how tequila burns down his throat, but he supposes it’s not exactly something he wants to bring back. Since meeting Kiyoomi, who’s a big lover of all wines, like riesling, merlot, chardonnay, and even grenache—Atsumu hadn’t even _known_ what the difference between all of them were—he has come to enjoy it, but only when he’s drinking it with Kiyoomi. On his own, he’s a bit more of a beer guy.

“Tell me about this one,” Atsumu pipes up, holding his glass out towards the other boy.

Kiyoomi clinks them gently. “This is one of Lavinea’s pinot noirs. It has hints of raspberries, cherries, and roses. It’s supposed to be very refreshing due to its lively acidity.”

Pinot noir is light-bodied, that’s what Atsumu remembers. He raises the glass to his lips and finds the liquid smooth and soft on his tongue, an extremely fruity flavour balancing out across his palate. He thinks he tastes a little bit of orange in there, too.

The pasta is better than it looks, which he hadn’t thought was possible. The hint of something incredibly creamy and flavourful makes Atsumu groan out in appreciation and gratitude. While he knows Kiyoomi doesn’t like him talking with his mouth full, he also knows that the other has gotten a lot more accustomed to it.

Kiyoomi rolls his eyes but mutters a shy _thank you_ in his direction, and Atsumu has to stop the flush from spreading to his cheeks mid-bite because he has always been so captivated by how _genuine_ his boyfriend can be in regard to everything Atsumu does.

He knows he has to count for his lucky stars considering how Kiyoomi kisses him while they wash the dishes together. He has to count them because it’s unbelievable, still, how much Atsumu wants to cry when he thinks about how their universes have aligned so perfectly to have them fit into each other’s arms like Kiyoomi is the key to Atsumu’s lock. Has to count them because there’s nothing else he wants more in this vast world. Counts them because Kiyoomi looks at him like he’s the only that exists amongst the millions of species and billions of people on this planet.

Atsumu counts and counts and doesn’t stop counting, not even when Kiyoomi bites off a piece of a butter cookie, fresh right out of the oven, with his eyes lighting up delicately. They kiss and Atsumu giggles at the crumbs on his lips. They put a cap to their drinking at two glasses in, each, and watch the interactive Bandersnatch movie that Black Mirror had released years ago on Netflix. The last time they watched it had been much earlier on, when Atsumu was still shy with his words and advances. They revisit it again to get the endings they never got.

Kiyoomi kisses him into the throw pillows partway through their second movie, a classic Studio Ghibli film because Atsumu had wanted something more light-hearted after such a dark series, and Atsumu kisses back with the same vigour as the Ponyo instrumentals play in the background. Kiyoomi tastes sugary and he wants more, suckling on his lip before tracing his tongue across the line of pearly teeth.

“Did you have fun today?” Kiyoomi asks him, mouth dragging ticklishly along Atsumu’s jawline.

“Yeah, you?”

“I did.”

Atsumu doesn’t want this to be over, and he doesn’t even know what he means by _this,_ because he knows he’s going to wake up tomorrow and Kiyoomi is going to love him as much as he does right now, and they’re still going to go grocery shopping together next week, adopt their little snowball of fluff, and spend many more hours sitting on their couch and watching movies and popular shows after making and eating their meals together. They’re going to see each other at work every day, grade their students’ works while sitting on the barstools at the kitchen island counter together, and fall asleep with the same inhale. They’re going to love and make love like they’ve done in the past, like how Kiyoomi looks at him with dilated pupils through dark lashes.

Miya Atsumu counts his stars.

“Stars,” he breathes out suddenly, eyelids fluttering open to meet the darks of Kiyoomi’s eyes.

“What?”

“Do you want to go stargazing?”

It’s a little rushed, Atsumu jumping to his feet after Kiyoomi lifts himself off, when they prepare for a drive out to the countryside, but they don’t care because the serenity of the night soothes over whatever nerves are left.

Kiyoomi sits in the passenger side this time because Atsumu has always held his liquor better than the taller man and, even though it has already been a few hours since they finished their wine, Kiyoomi suggests they stay safe anyway. The lights from neon signs flash across Kiyoomi’s face when Atsumu steals quick glances at him.

“There’s this spot,” Atsumu starts, “but it’s a li’l bit of drive. Like, forty-five minutes, maybe?”

Sakusa turns the volume of the music down slightly. “That’s fine.”

The roads had been a little busy in the city despite the time, as expected considering what day it is, but the freeway out here is silent and dark after clearing past district perimetres. Atsumu had found Kiyoomi’s hand sometime through the first half of their drive, and they rest comfortably in the middle, fingers laced with the occasional thumb brushing over soft skin.

The nights are still chilly a month and a half into the new year, so Kiyoomi had remembered to bring a couple of warm blankets they spent a little too much money on when they first laid their eyes on them. The skies are clear and the snow sits heavy on the fenced grasslands when they get out of the car, but the lack of snowfall makes it perfect for ten, maybe fifteen, minutes of stargazing. The blanket hugs warm around Atsumu’s neck and over his shoulders as he turns to look at Kiyoomi, whose chin is lifted to the dark bowl above their heads, lashes fluttering against his cheeks, dusted over in a baby pink, and eyes to the sky.

This is the spot. To be fair, Atsumu has never been here before, especially since he just pulled off the main highway and drove further before pulling off to the side. He does know, however, that anywhere away from the city and towards the mountain peaks are good. He isn’t right about many things, but this is one thing he knows he can’t be wrong about.

Especially not when Kiyoomi drops his gaze to lock their eyes together, hands slipping underneath the droop of Atsumu’s coral-coloured blanket, a stark contrast to Kiyoomi’s periwinkle, and tells him to look.

So Atsumu does. He raises his head and is stunned frozen, fingers tightening over the hand slipping into his.

“Is that…?”

Kiyoomi sighs out, comforted. “The Milky Way.”

He has never seen it with his own eyes before and, now that he is witnessing the explosion of something so new and exhilarating in front of his own, is in disbelief by how _clearly_ he can see it. The darkness that brings out the contrast of its outline and all the tiny little specks as stars dotting the space feels so vast Atsumu has a sudden thought about being the smallest being on earth.

How come it’s him that decides to bring Kiyoomi here but it’s also _him_ that’s so struck by what he expected to see and ends up seeing more? How come it’s him that feels the stinging in his nose and tastes the saltiness of his tears dripping between the crevice of his lips and not _Kiyoomi,_ who he wants to impress—has _always_ wanted to impress—he, who feels like there isn’t enough oxygen around for the both of them to breathe? Why, Atsumu thinks, does he feel like he never wants to let go of this burst of emotions electrifying his nerves from the ends of his toes to the tips of his ears?

The universe is a big and scary place. Miya Atsumu is but one person, and Sakusa Kiyoomi is but another. He wonders, as Kiyoomi’s other hand cups his cheek gently to bring them forward so that their lips meet halfway, how it has managed to guide two insignificant beings to form a significant bond.

“You’re crying,” he hears Kiyoomi whisper out, then feels the brush of a thumb that glides across his cheek. He tilts his head up when Kiyoomi lifts his chin, gazes at him so softly and gently Atsumu chokes out a sob, a fresh wave of hot tears sliding down his face. He hears a soothing hush, feels their noses bump together, and tastes the sweetness in their kiss.

“I love you, Atsumu.”

“Shut up,” he speaks with little bite, gaze lowered to the fluff of Kiyoomi’s hood near the neck of the zipper, “yer gonna make me cry.”

Kiyoomi laughs, and it’s got to be the prettiest thing Atsumu has ever heard in his life. “Aren’t you already?”

He’s reminded again of his earlier thoughts. Atsumu knows Kiyoomi can’t read his mind, but when he pulls away to blink through the blurriness, stare locked on intense, dark irises, he thinks Kiyoomi understands anyway. They kiss again, with Atsumu throwing his blanket-wrapped arms around the other’s shoulders and a half-mumbled _I love you, too_ escaping past his lips, and he thanks the universe and its Milky Way for giving him an infinite number of lucky stars to count.

When they lay in bed together that night, Atsumu chants out Kiyoomi’s name like it’s a broken loop, replaying and replaying. When Kiyoomi grips his hips and rocks their bed into the wall, Atsumu wants to be held like that forever.

He cries out an incoherent thought, words muffled by a kiss on his lips. Atsumu realizes then that when they love it’s with an explosion of colours behind his eyelids and a heat of love under his ribcage for Kiyoomi and Kiyoomi only. There isn’t a better way to put it, but Atsumu doesn’t need the words, and neither does Kiyoomi. All it really takes is a knowing glance, fingers hooking around each other, and conversations about anything and everything, one with no end; one that starts and lasts forever.

They fall asleep after a quick shower, but Atsumu stays awake for just a few more minutes after Kiyoomi’s breathing evens out in its inhales and exhales, and thinks about today. He feathers his fingers along Kiyoomi’s cheek and down to his jaw, then his chin, and his lips, and thinks about his boyfriend—his partner, the love of his life, and the man he wants to spend every second of the rest of his life with; the one he calls his forever.

And then he thinks about Valentine’s Day. Perhaps it’s not too bad, after all.

**Author's Note:**

> HAPPY VALENTINE'S DAY FOLKS !!
> 
> this was supposed to sit at 3k words HAHAHA IDK WHAT HAPPENED but,, do i regret it ? not at all .
> 
> anyways, sakuatsu fluff week 2021 has BEGUN which means,,, skts content,,, every day :3c
> 
> please come find me on my [ twitter ](https://twitter.com/milkocaine) !! i made it a while ago and still have no idea how to use it besides retweet cool stuff LMAOO i desperately need friends and mutuals and i PROMISE im friendly i WILL NOT BITE unless asked to <3


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